Soul Driver
by LeoGryffin
Summary: Harry's disappearance leads Hermione to make choices with potentially disastrous consequences for her soul. She must trust Severus to be able to save herself and Harry. A tiny bit of slash hinted at, but mostly SS/HG. COMPLETE.


_Author's note: I owe a debt to several fantastic fanfics which lent inspiration to this vignette, including "A Higher Price", the opening chapter of "Last Tango In Paris", and the collective works of Fleable and Idamae _

_If you haven't read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and don't want to see plot devices from that book, stop reading now and go get a copy of OotP and read it...why are you online reading fanfiction? This story borrows heavily from J K R owling's newest creation._

_If you like this story, read the sequels: "Soul on Ice" and "Soul Blue and Black". Just follow my author link above._

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize here belongs to J K Rowling, except the song lyrics which belong to Bruce Springsteen. I'm not making money off any of it._

~*~*~*~

Soul Driver  
Bruce Springsteen

Rode through forty nights of the gospels' rain  
Black sky pourin' snakes, frogs  
And love in vain  
You were down where the river grows wider  
Baby, let me be your soul driver  
  
Well if something in the air feels a little unkind  
Don't worry darlin'  
It'll slip your mind  
I'll be your gypsy joker your shotgun rider  
Baby let me be your soul driver  
  
Now no one knows which way love's wheel turns  
Will we hit it rich  
Or crash and burn  
Does fortune wait or just the black hand of fate  
This love potion's all we've got  
One toast before it's too late  
  
If the angels are unkind or the season is dark  
Or if in the end  
Love just falls apart  
Well then here's to our destruction  
Baby let me be your soul driver

~*~*~*~

The raven-haired woman waited, betraying her nervousness at his lateness only by the restless tapping of one finger on the stem of her wineglass. In her world, where time was nearly meaningless, it seemed incongruous that she was slightly flustered; nevertheless, it wasn't like her contact to be more than a few minutes late, and she'd waited nearly half an hour past their meeting time. The longer she stayed in such a public venue, the more scrutiny she was bound to attract.

Her hand stilled for a moment as she pondered the situation, noticing furtive glances in her direction by a few of the patrons becoming more emboldened. Perhaps it was time...yes, past time, she thought, as she rose to step into the loo.

Moments later, a nondescript red-haired gentleman sat at the table and finished the glass of wine. A few eyebrows might have raised, but this was the Hog's Head, and stranger things certainly happened often enough. As the last dregs were drained, a blond man entered and joined the table. The dark woman never returned from the loo; she'd run her course in the scheme of things, and couldn't be seen waiting for this particular man as long as she had without attracting the wrong sort of attention. The red-haired man did not have her problem.

"It's about fucking time, Malfoy," the redhead said in low tones. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, come off it, my _good friend_," the blond said, rolling his eyes. "Your favorite lover, dear old Dad, sidetracked me. I couldn'tleave without attracting the wrong sorts of questions. I thought your counterpart would be meeting me tonight...well, one of your more feminine friends, at any rate."

"Too many leering scum," the redhead said shortly, "my darker and prettier alter ego had a stop in the loo and escaped through a back window, or something. At any rate, we'd best cut this short. You know I hate meeting somewhere so public. Especially this rathole..."

"Funny you should mention rats," the one called Malfoy said, "your old friend Wormtail inquired about your services just this evening. I told him you had another appointment, but I'd see if I could get him on the calendar. Your popularity is spreading."

"Must be my talented representation. Wormtail could prove the most valuable potential witness yet, and he is rather weak, the stinking prat...yes, you must arrange things very soon. But I have another engagement? Who's the lucky fellow?" The redhead leaned in close to Malfoy, and took a small rolled parchment from his hands, knowing it would contain a meeting place and time, and any other details Malfoy deemed necessary to complete the evening's activities. This might include whether the client preferred sexual partners of male or female persuasion; details about the client's proximity to the Dark Lord and potential information avenues to take; the client's name; or, nothing at all sometimes. Malfoy was a decent...pimp, for lack of a better term, though he would abhor the designation in a serious discussion. But he represented an exceptional person, and the stakes were so high for both of them that there could be no mistakes, no slips.

No less than the life of Harry Potter, the only possible savior of wizardkind according to prophecy, hung in the balance. And the mysterious redheaded man's two most exceptional weapons could retrieve that life and make the world safe for democracy. 

The redhead palmed the bit of parchment, tapped it with his wand, and quickly read the contents. The note self-destructed after it was read, and he met Draco Malfoy's eyes.

"This doesn't leave me much to go on."

"Sorry. This is a most unusual request, but I believe it could be important or I never would have agreed. I'll touch base with you later...I know I've wished you luck a thousand times, but I cannot imagine being in your shoes." Malfoy leaned over and kissed the redheaded man's cheek and walked quickly out the back door of the pub.

The redhead sighed, tossing a few Sickles on the table and taking his leave through the front entrance, ducking into an alleyway near the Hogsmeade branch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and using the hidden door he knew was there to enter the back storeroom crammed with all manner of practical jokes from Skiving Snackboxes to Portable Swamps. He allowed himself a moment of indulgence, allowing his hands to shake with the anticipation and mingled dread rising in his belly at the thought of what he must do. The request was so unusual and unnerving that it was best to get the emotions overwith now, in the dark of his friends' closed shop, than in a faceless hotel room a thousand miles away with a man he hadn't seen in six months...though he'd thought of him often enough. Sighing, he opened a small vial of the Draught of Peace and downed it before drawing his wand. He suppressed a wry smile at the thought of the imposing professor who taught him how to make that valuable potion, and concentrated on the task at hand. Making absolutely sure he wasn't seen, he Apparated.

In a dark corner of the Hog's Head, another man in cloak and hood threw a few coins on his table as well, only minutes after the odd couple had made their exit. Smirking to himself, he exited out the same door Malfoy had left earlier. This could be a very, very interesting evening, he thought as he pulled out his wand and thought of the bright lights of New York.

*~*~*

A stunningly attractive woman in expensive everything walked into the bar of the Avalon Hotel on 32nd Street in Manhattan. It wasn't the most upscale place by a longshot, but it was a respectable European-style boutique hotel across the street from the Empire State Building. Still, a woman of such obvious taste and wealth belonged at the Ritz-Carlton or visiting friends on the Upper East Side; it was hard to imagine her walking the pedestrian streets of the Korean district with the commoners.

The bartender nodded, hoping this was the type of rich person that left large tips rather than the type who felt that service was its own reward. "May I get you something to drink, madam?" he said in a clipped German accent.

"I'm in America so rarely...a really, really good bourbon, please. A double, neat. Perhaps Woodford Reserve if you carry it?" She had a very British accent, which seemed to suit her nicely, the barkeep noted.

"As luck would have it, madam, I just received a bottle of it today." As he poured her drink, he was taken by the beauty of her catlike eyes; he'd really never seen anything quite like them. Setting the whiskey down in front of her, he asked, "Can I get you anything else? A dinner menu, or...?"

She shook her head, flashing a smile that would have melted any heterosexual male within a square mile. "I might take you up on that later." She took a sip of the drink; flustered, the bartender quickly got busy pretending to wash already clean barware so as not to look at her again.

"Excellent whisky," she said after a moment, throwing a fifty on the bar. "Keep the change."

"Thank you, madam; we appreciate your patronage..." the bartender called out, but she was already gone through the doors leading into the hotel from the bar. Absentmindedly making change, he silently blessed English women and hoped that she'd return later on for a nightcap.

*~*~*

She entered the queen suite on the top floor, and walked over to the curtains to open them for a full view of the Empire State Building at night. Sitting on the couch, she began to doze, and immediately to dream.

"That's right, you stupid Mudblood whore," the man in the Death Eater garb said. "He's not dead, he's more useful to us alive, but he won't be back. He abandoned you and Weasley. Some friend he turned out to be, eh? And now you'll both die."

"No!"

"Avada Kedavra." Ron Weasley crumpled to the floor. For a flash, Hermione Granger knew exactly how Harry Potter must have felt when Cedric was killed in their fourth year.

Steeling herself for the end, she allowed herself to think about Harry rather than Ron's dead body next to her. Harry didn't abandon them; she knew, deep down with a conviction she could not explain, that Voldemort had been unable or unwilling to kill him, that the Death Eater was telling the truth. He had done something else to put him out of commission. What that something was, she had no clue, but she had to try and find out and somehow get out of this mess. Chances didn't look good, of course...she was staring down the end of a homicidal maniac's wand. She only had one chance. Better make it a good one.

"Well, all alone, little whore. I think I'll delay killing you till I've had my fun...shame to waste you on a quick death. One Weasley more or less doesn't impact my world, but you...take off your clothes. Don't bother trying anything, and you know I'll happily put you under Imperius to force you to do it."

Her mind was racing as she automatically obeyed. She needed something...she'd read something in a book in the Restricted Section, what seemed like ages ago, in a quest to learn all she could about different forms of magic relating to human sexuality for a project for Charms. It had been worth it at the time to see Flitwick turn beet red, but it had been a perfectly legitimate topic. She knew she'd been all the talk in the staff room after that, but it had been the final project of her sixth year so she hadn't had to endure the stares and titters of the teachers very long before summer holidays took her away. At any rate, there had been one charm...old, archaic magic that was never used because of its obscurity and difficulty and the ready availability of potions you could carry with you as a young, attractive witch out in the world to achieve similar, if not as long-lasting, results. She remembered...so close, but the exact words...she had to try, it might be her ticket out. 

"I must confess I expected you to be more of a fighter. Draco has told us so much about you, beyond my personal first-hand knowledge of course." The Death Eater left on his mask and robes, but was exposing himself and forced her to take his stiffening cock in her hands, pushing her head towards it. 

All at once, she marshaled her thoughts and made the decision. This magic, fortunately, did not require a wand; most good sexual charms didn't. Just the right enchantment and focused thoughts and touch...but what the bloody hell were the right words...

"Insatia grimorae, insensate existus!" she whispered, touching the man's penis and hoping like hell the words would have the effect of rendering him not only unable to keep this erection, but to lose consciousness if he tried to force himself on her. It was a charm to defend against rape or other unwanted sexual advances; the attacker would be unable to finish the job and if he tried, she could get away.

However, the charm did not have the intended effect. The man groaned in a way that could only mean that he was recieving intense, almost unreal pleasure from her hands, still lightly resting on his shaft. The scientist in her kicked in as she filed her exact words away; if she got out, she'd like to check that book again and see what she did wrong, but this was very interesting. As she experimentally stroked, she realized that he was completely in her power. Within a few minutes of experimentation, he literally exploded and fell to his knees, weeping at her feet with unrestrained joy. For the next fifteen minutes, he would do anything she commanded; she naturally commanded him to let her go and take the body of her friend with her, and he easily told her who he was as an afterthought. She recoiled in horror when she realized that she had given this mad gift to none other than Percy Weasley, who had just killed his brother without a second thought. Later, she was sick for hours thinking about it. 

It was then that the scheme to rescue Harry Potter had its genesis; an accidentally mis-remembered spell germinating into an idea to force Death Eaters to spill their guts. However, it would take much more than that to pull it off. The woman on the couch's dream shifted, taking us along for the ride.

*~*~*

An owl fluttered through Hermione's window at her flat over Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in Hogsmeade. After relieving the unfamiliar owl of his note and giving him a bit of toast, she sighed and wiped a tear from her eye. She'd been thinking about Harry and Ron again; one dead, and one missing. She knew that her little secret weapon would help, but she had no way of just waltzing in and offering sexual services to Death Eaters. Completely at a loss, she turned her attention to the letter.

"Hermione;

I know you will be surprised to receive this letter, but please don't chuck it in the fire just yet. I want...need...to speak to you about Potter. It's important. I know you have no reason at all to trust me given our terrible history and who my father is, but there are things you need to know and things I want to talk to you about. I can't explain in a letter; can I meet you and talk to you? No strings attached, you name the place.

D. Malfoy"

He was right. She was surprised. Correspondence from a Death Eater. It would have certainly been chucked right in the fire if not for two things; one, he mentioned Harry which meant that he might know something; two, if things didn't go the way she hoped, perhaps she could seduce the little snotrag and play her trick on him and see if she could get some meaningful information. It would be worth the gamble. 

"Hang on little owl, let me send you back to your master with news."

She arranged to meet him at a room over the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley that day; he arrived, flustered, and shut the door.

"Hermione, before you say anything, I need to make two things very, very clear." He seemed very serious, very grave. It had only been six days since Harry had disappeared, since Hermione had brought Ron's body to the Weasleys and had the terrible duty to inform them that their third son had killed their youngest son. Where Hermione's heart had been, it felt a block of ice had taken up residence. It was the only way to survive.

"Go on, Malfoy. I won't hex you...yet. But if you're wasting my time..."

"No. I believe we can help each other, Hermione, hear me out. First, I know about what you did to Percy Weasley. I'm the only person that knows. I also am here to tell you that he's dead."

Hermione flinched. That was not news that she was expecting, though it gave her some satisfaction to know that Ron's killer walked no more.

"Secondly, you will only be one of two besides myself that know this...that will ever know this. I'm a traitor..a spy...I'm not a loyal Death Eater. I never have been; Professor Snape and I work together, and he trained me in his ways. I killed Percy when I found out what you did to him, because I saw an opportunity to bring Potter back...well, and because he was a fucking lunatic and I always wanted an excuse. I suppose I could have just Obliviated him. But I think we can use this to get information about Potter."

Hermione finally found her voice. "Oddly enough, I had been thinking the same thing. But I had no way to get inside the circle to bring my...er...talent to the board, and I think I need more practice; but I thought that Obliviating the interrogation would prove valuable. My sexual talents would be legend and no one would realize that they were spilling their guts to me."

"You need me as much as I need you, Granger. I can get you in with the right people; you can extract the information." Draco was shaking, which was rather unlike him. Hermione laid a hand over his. Despite her childhood anger with him, he clearly was in some distress as an adult.

"Why do you care if Harry returns?" she asked in a careful tone.

"Isn't that obvious? He is the only one who can kill Voldemort and get us off the hook."

"Is that all, Draco?" She managed a weak smile, indicating his hands. "Why are you shaking?"

Draco hesitated. "No one else knows, but you ought to know the whole truth if we are going to be partners. Harry and I were - are - lovers, Hermione. I love him and I need him back for more selfish reasons than just the world-saving bits."

Somehow Hermione wasn't as surprised as she should have been, given their apparent hatred for one another. She could imagine the sparks between them igniting, and looking into his eyes, she could see he was telling the truth.

"Damn," she said, "if we're going to tell the whole truth, it's time to put the last piece of this on the table and make our plans. I'm a Metamorphmagus. Should make this interesting, eh?"

*~*~*

The summer the Trio all turned 16, Hermione found herself in Grimmauld Place with Ron and Harry and Tonks. Lupin and Moody were off with Molly gathering supplies for the week; Harry was carefully avoiding talking about Sirius, who had moved through the veil in the Department of Mysteries a few weeks before. It all seemed very surreal, and Harry was blaming himself pretty much all the time.

Hermione's mind was drifting in and out as Ron and Harry played a game of Wizard's Chess. "Tonks," Hermione said, "how did you know you were a Metamorphmagus?"

"Just kept showing up with different hairstyles...it runs in my family, so it wasn't a surprise. I'm not really a great one, though; I can only change one big feature at a time. There are those who can change everything about themselves, including gender. There isn't one alive right now, though."

"Really?" Hermione was intrigued. "Do they know they have this ability from birth?"

"Actually, the really powerful Metamorphmagi only come into it in adolescence, though the ability is inborn. Pretty interesting, really." Tonks changed her hair sunflower yellow, as if to punctuate her words.

"Are there any books on famous Metamorph..."

"Leave it to her to bring up books on holiday," Ron muttered.

Tonks smiled oddly. "To tell the truth, I don't know. Haven't bothered. But I do know the last full Metamorph was 200 years ago, born to Muggles, and showed the ability at about 13. Didn't use it properly, though, and ended up running a Muggle bordello. You know, all things to all people."

At the time, this struck Hermione as incredibly odd - to use such a gift for such mundane ends. 

*~*~*

The woman on the couch in New York started as she heard the door open. It was time.

The man entering looked wearier than when she'd seen him last, if possible. No wonder he had inquired about her services; he looked as if he hadn't smiled in 20 years. He might not have, at that.

"Hello," she said, rising and peering around the room divider.

He said nothing at all. This didn't surprise her overmuch, but the silence gave rise to the butterflies in her stomach. Normally, when she had an appointment with a client, she was fairly wooden about it - she did her thing, interrogated her victim as he reeled from the sexual pleasure she had given, and the Obliviated just that part of his memory that contained the interrogation. Several months into it, her legend as a magical prostitute was growing nicely, thanks to Draco, but they seemed to get maddeningly little information. Draco had concluded that his father knew more than he let on, and that people even closer to Voldemort that probably knew everything hadn't asked to be introduced to her yet. "Give it time, love, I know we'll be successful," he'd say.

If her mother could see her now...wearing another woman's face, high-class call-girl to wizards of very dubious moral fiber. It was all for a good cause, right?

And Lucius Malfoy, her most frequent client...she relished the power she had over him in their encounters. She hated him with such an intense passion that it translated spectacularly into their sessions. After all, to go to your son to get sexual favors from a girl...you had to be completely whipped. It was only a matter of time until he cracked. She'd gotten enough information out of him to determine that Voldemort was somehow keeping Harry a prisoner in a dimensional shift; he was alive, but out of phase with time. Before she could figure out how to get him back, though, she needed a lot more information about how the shift was done, so she kept sleeping with her best leads, including Lucius.

All in all, as dirty as she could feel if she allowed herself to ponder this too closely, she had shielded herself nicely. Up until tonight, she'd managed to feel nothing at all in the icy region she called her heart, other than the perverse little pleasures of making powerful, evil men squirm under her touch.

But this man...she had anticipated and dreaded an encounter with this one. Draco had been so certain that he'd never ask. "Less likely than old Tom Riddle himself, I say," Draco had said. As wrong as he'd been, she had to admit that part of her had hoped for this moment. Taking back some of her own, perhaps? Seven years on the other end of daily tongue-lashings for this failure or that on her part; bitter, ascerbic commentary, a yearning for approval that never would come. Or, perhaps, there was something more; something unacknowledged until Draco's meeting with her earlier that day.

If she could make him feel pleasure...he deserved something good for all the years he'd put in on their side, right?

And she didn't need to interrogate him. Might want to for selfish reasons, but...

And damn, she was drop dead gorgeous tonight. Being a Metamorphmagus...how amazing that weapon had been placed into her arsenal shortly before she had found such a compelling need for it. She'd used her best disguise; no wonder there was a hint of a smile now playing around his eyes, as he sat across from her. She'd lust after herself if she swung that way; though she'd had precious little time to consider what way she personally swung, with the added perversion of occasionally having to be male for a client that was gay. She honestly, at this point, felt no sexual preference...every encounter, truth be told, wore on her soul. She wondered if she'd ever in her life have sex for pleasure, just for herself, two people met as equals making love to one another. Probably impossible at this point.

He'd never know it was Hermione Granger; none of her clients ever would. She made a decision, one that she was certain Draco would approve of. This one was on the house. Looking at his care-worn face, she knew that the price would be too high for this man otherwise, and he had simply given to Voldemort and to Dumbledore too many years without taking anything for himself; she was in a position to know the score. A good person forced to do terrible, soul-sucking things. She felt his pain all too well.

"Drink?" she asked. He met her eyes.

"No," he said in his low voice, "but I do have a favor to ask. Only one."

Interesting. "Name it."

He sighed, eyes never leaving hers. "Just for tonight, I want you to be...Hermione."

Whatever she had expected from him, it had not been that. Her identity was an agreed-upon secret between Draco and herself, and the only other person who knew she was a Metamorphmagus was Tonks.

Tonks, she thought. Of course. Order business, no doubt, she felt obligated to tell the others that there was a new Metamorph on their side; she would have had no idea of the arrangement that Draco and I have. Snape put the pieces together on his own. 

Feeling confident that her cover was not blown where it counted, she said simply, "I've forgotten how to be that person, Professor Snape."

His hand found hers. "What you are doing...it is probably the bravest act for our side I've seen yet, Miss Granger. You and Draco...if you succeed, you'll be heroes. But Miss Granger, I know the danger, the heartache, and the emptiness all too well. I live them...have lived them many years. I asked to meet you tonight to allow you to know that someone can be here for you. Someone...with whom you can share your soul before it is too late. I have realized too late that someone like that might have helped me hang on when I thought my sanity was slipping away, and perhaps I wouldn't have become so bitter and hard."

"This is an extraordinary confession," she said lightly, "for someone who expressed such fervent hatred for me only a year ago."

He waved his hand. "You were a student. You all get treated like that. You're now participating of your own free will, and so am I. Neither of us were then."

There was truth to that statement; he did not wish to teach her, she did not wish to have him for a professor. But he seemed quite out of character offering himself as a safe haven.

"I trust Draco," she said, making no move to change her appearance. "He's my safety net." 

"As you wish," Snape said, "but he has motives that do not include you. He wishes to retrieve his lover, and if your role becomes ineffective, he will not be there to pick up your emotional pieces."

"That's accurate, but I assure you, I don't need anyone to pick up my pieces."

"Because you aren't human anymore and are incapable of feelings, is that it?" He captured her other hand, and began slow circles on her palms with his thumb. She pushed down the traitorous tingle in her thighs, and relented. She morphed back into Hermione, and faced him unmasked. He nodded, reaching up to caress her face.

"I thought so. Beautiful."

She raised an eyebrow. "I was beautiful, a moment ago. Now I'm just tired old plain Hermione. Spare me, please, and tell me what you want. You paid for me, I'm yours. I promise I won't interrogate you like I do your illustrious colleagues, but I'm happy to oblige you...Merlin knows you deserve a little bit of happiness."

"Shhhhhh," he said, and pulled her into his lap. "This isn't about me. I'm a lost cause."

She pulled back, and looked into his eyes. "I refuse to believe that."

"It's true, but I can help you escape the same fate. Just trust me. I don't want your body or your fabled sexual delights, Hermione. I want you to find your soul, and let me help you hang on to it. Don't lose your heart to darkness...you're so close to doing that right now."

"So you're doing this out of some notion of redeeming yourself through saving me? Please." She wasn't sure if she liked this unnerving version of Severus Snape. There was a scary, speeding attraction growing within her, proving his point about her need to cling to any port in a storm. And like it or not, he was right about Draco. It was a business partnership, and those had a funny way of sailing through good times and hitting the rocks full steam in bad ones.

Still, could she trust this man - her former Potions professor, the one who had been so personally and professionally cruel in her student days - could she trust him enough to give him her very self for safekeeping until this nasty business was over? Would he return it, or would he use it and throw it away?

"Why New York?" she suddenly said.

"It's a beautiful city, it's anonymous, and about as far away as a safe Apparition can carry a tired person."

"How did you...know..."

"It is enough that I put the pieces together, but no one else you will encounter will have access to all the information I have. Draco may release you, but he won't give your secret away. The danger lies in your legend becoming too great, and Voldemort becoming interested in your talents."

She nodded, "It's occurred to us. Wormtail is asking about me, and it seems like Voldemort...whatever he is these days...might have some interest."

He held her close again. "Do you trust me?"

She considered, and answered in a small voice, "I don't trust anyone...least of all myself."

"Let me keep your soul safe, Hermione."

"We'll see."

*~*~*

She awoke with a start, not knowing for a moment where she was. Gradually, the conversation on the couch came back to her. She was in bed; there was evidence someone had lain next to her, but the pillow was cold. She looked around the dawn-lit dimness. He was gone.

Dressing with care and assuming the face of the Rich English Woman, she made her way downstairs and gratefully gulped a cup of coffee before returning to the room to gather what things she had; she would Apparate in the privacy of her suite. However, when she returned, an unexpected visitor was perched on the couch.

"Well?" Draco said.

"I..." It was customary for the two of them to meet up after her encounters, to discuss what she had learned and to formulate strategy if enough information had come to light. Depressingly, it had been several weeks since they had scored a hit, and he was certainly aware that Severus Snape would have no information for her. Why was he here?

"Yes, yes," Draco said impatiently, "I don't want gory details. I just wondered why he asked for you, and if there is anything I can do..." he trailed off, suddenly looking older than his 20 years.

"I'm fine, Malfoy. You came all this way to ask if I was all right? I'm touched."

He shook his head. "We need a success, Granger, I can't wait much longer before I must look for some other alternative. This isn't working. I have another meeting arranged for you."

In her private thoughts, she recalled Snape's words of the previous night. It was true. Draco would surely dump her in a minute if he thought she couldn't get the results he wanted. Harry was lucky that he had a man who obviously cared about him so much, but the fact was, Hermione was Harry's best friend and Draco was the new kid on the block. She wasn't going to let him call all the shots.

She reached out her hand for the expected parchment, but Draco grabbed her wrist as he pushed it into her upturned palm.

"I'm sorry, Granger," he said, but she didn't feel as though he meant it. "I'm just frustrated, and time is slipping away. What did Snape want?"

"Nothing," she said absently, "I never could figure out why he came."

"It was a wasted night, then, but I have a feeling tonight won't be. I..." Draco faltered, "I have to go to Brussels with my father today, so you're on your own. I wish there was some way I could be nearby in case there is trouble." 

She hadn't looked at the paper in her hand. She unfurled the parchment, and nodded at the words before the parchment went up in smoke. "I can handle this, Draco. No need to concern yourself with my well-being. Not that I think that you're all that concerned, anyway, you lousy git."

"Granger, it pains me to say this, but I care. And not just because you're my best alternative right now, but because...Harry cares about you, and he'd never forgive me if something happened to you."

She rolled her eyes, mock saluted, and Apparated.

*~*~*

In a dingy room in one of the more questionable parts of Edinburgh, a shaved-bald black woman with long fingernails waited silently. A rat ran across the floor; she was not the least bit surprised when moments later, in its place, a balding forty-something man in black robes stood before her.

It was never her practice to make the first move, but in this case, she never had the chance. Before she could scream, she lay Stunned on the floor, the victim of a very fast curse. Her attacker, a man by the name of Peter Pettigrew who was to have been her client this evening, smiled as he picked her up, opened the window, and slung her into the human-sized holster hanging under his Nimbus 2001. It was a short flight to his Master.

~*~*~

"Ennervate", the hooded figure in red robes said calmly, pointing his wand at the crumpled mass of dark-skinned human on the flagstone floor.

Her eyes fluttered open, taking only a second to register that she wasn't in the hotel room any more. It took little imagination to put the puzzle together; as she sat up, she looked into the eyes of the Dark Lord himself.

"You're probably wondering," he said conversationally, "why I didn't just issue the standard invitation through young Mister Malfoy?"

"I assume it's your sense of the dramatic?" she said icily.

"It's a good assumption, though in this case quite incorrect," Voldemort said. "I needed to get a good look at your wand, which sang like a bird when asked its secrets. Why would a lovely call-girl like yourself need to perform so many memory charms, anyway? Cannot imagine it's for a purpose that I would find to my liking, considering you and the others like you seem to be running quite a business among my associates."

He had told her two important things; one, that he didn't know that she was a Metamorphmagus, a fact that made her sigh with relief; and two, that Draco Malfoy just might be in a lot of trouble. She wasn't worried so much about herself, of course, but she needed to warn Draco as soon as she could get out of this mess. "Memory charms are part of my business, Master," she said in a calm voice.

"You'll have to explain, whore," he said in a tone signaling that he would brook very little cheek from her.

"I could arrange a demonstration? It's much easier than explaining..."

He seemed to consider the unorthodox offer. He had been expecting her to cower and beg for her life. Her cavalier attitude suggested that possibly, just maybe, she hadn't been doing what he had suspected. Once he had heard of Draco's ability to get these magical women and men who were willing to perform an unknown sexual charm on his associates, he had been immediately concerned; Lucius's obvious addiction to the services of these women unnerved the Dark Lord, because he was privy to a number of the Dark Lord's plans and secrets. It would only be too easy for a spy to break down the defenses of one of his people with a sexual spell and get information - even an experienced Death Eater only thought to defend himself from unpleasant warfare, not from pleasure.

It was hard for the Dark Lord to conceive of either Malfoy turning traitor; once he saw the amount of memory charms performed by the whore's wand, however, his anxiety had increased tenfold. Perhaps a little demonstration...

"Ah, Severus," Voldemort said as his Hogwarts pet entered the room, "just in time. I'd just love you to meet one of young Draco's...associates."

Suddenly, the pit of her stomach was flooded with ice. She had hoped to create a false demonstration of what she used Memory Charms for. She and Draco had planned for the "what if you get caught" scenario, and she had an alternate way of making the spell go bad at the last second so that she would have to use a Memory Charm on her client to erase the memory of his dick shriveling up. It made her laugh every time she had tested it on Draco, but it worked fine. "I'm sorry, Lord, but our magic is imperfect," she would say. "It creates intense sexual pleasure, but then the client's penis is temporarily shriveled and painful. I put a memory charm on them and they forget the bad and only remember the good." However, she hadn't intended to perform it on this particular man. Pettigrew, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott...they would have been much more appropriate.

Snape gave one of his patented long-suffering sighs. "I have more important things to do with my time," he said.

"Impertinent, are we? When's the last time you had sex, my friend? 1980?" A high pitched laugh, about something that really was not at all amusing, eminated from the hood.

Hermione warily listened as Voldemort explained to Snape what he intended them to do. Snape paused to consider, and then said, "I believe there is a much better alternative to this spectacle."

"I'm all ears," Voldemort said, clearly in no hurry.

"It just so happens I have a fresh batch of Veritaserum; I'll happily interrogate her for you. That should achieve much more than any demonstration of her skills, cunning though she might be."

Voldemort pondered this idea. "Yes, I can see where that might be more valuable, if not quite as entertaining. Very well. Let's begin."

Snape produced a small vial from his robes. Hermione's eyes grew wide, knowing the danger she and everyone around her - including Snape - would be in if she told the wrong truths. She watched him draw nearer, and as he bent down to administer the Veritaserum, he whispered almost inaudibly: "This might be a good time to start trusting."

For a moment, sheer terror at what she might be compelled to say - even with Snape doing the questioning - ate at her. What if Voldemort insisted on asking questions? Snape couldn't guarantee that, could he? But as the potion slid down her throat, she realized it was not Veritaserum at all. During her Order training she'd taken it to introduce herself to the effects, and see if she was one of the few people who could resist it. She was not, but remembered the taste and immediate effects of the potion well. This was clearly a placebo.

It was time to turn up the acting a notch, however. She pretended to go slack, to get the glassy eyes, and quelled the panic rising in her that perhaps Snape's latest Veritaserum was just a really well-done batch that was still going to force her to incriminate herself and those around her.

"Who are you?" Snape began.

It was the moment of truth, no pun intended. If she was compelled to say her name, all bets were off.

"Lillith Tomlinson, formerly of Blue Jay Way."

Snape nodded to her, and the game began.

*~*~*

After an hour of questioning, Voldemort began to get bored. Clearly there was no sinister plot, just a rather stupid young woman who got lucky with some arcane magic and learned how to get men's rocks off far better than had been previously devised, even if it did seem to have a troubling temporary side effect. He winced thinking of it, and crossed his legs.

"Very well, very well," he said. "Snape, get her on your broom and return her home, and Obliviate her; I think we've heard enough."

"Of course, my Lord," Snape said, taking the woman's arm and bowing on his way out.

"Lovely improv, Miss Granger. I'll nominate you for an award," he said jokingly as they flew above the house where Voldemort's camp was this week.

Snape? A joke? Was he smiling?

She couldn't comment; she held on for dear life. As they arrived home, Snape walked up to her cat, Crookshanks. "Obliviate."

What in the hell?

"I know what you're thinking, Miss Granger. He'll check my wand. I was certain you'd want to remember, so your cat has forgotten he took a nap this afternoon." He strode out of her house without another word, leaving her with her thoughs and a desire so distressing, she squashed it firmly down and buried it where she couldn't examine it too closely.

*~*~*

"Pettigrew, again?" she said. "This is the third time this week."

"My father isn't really happy about it, either; I had to tell him that I'd get Pettigrew a new woman, since it seems that they compared notes and found out they were both...er...utilizing the talents of that leggy Asian version of you. So perhaps the black woman, again?"

"Ugh," she said, "I can't remember her name and I gave it to Voldemort. I liked being her, too. Um...I'll think of something exotic."

"I hope..." Draco trailed off. "I feel like we're spinning our wheels. I was certain Pettigrew would be the key."

"Give it a few more days," she said, "If I can do it, you can too."

"Yes," he agreed, "I don't have to sleep with a fucking rat, so you have my sympathies..."

She met Wormtail again that night. He was on the disgusting meter between Crabbe the elder and Crabbe the younger; she'd had the dubious pleasure of both of them as clients last week, and of course they knew absolutely nothing. Lucius had spilled a little more this week, but she felt as if she were against a brick wall with him. She was also worried that he had a rather unhealthy addiction; he had a lot of money and asked for her much more often than Draco could set her up. After all, even though they pretended there were several escorts in the service, there was really only one. Eventually, someone was going to catch on, she worried.

After performing the sexual ritual, his eyes bugged out of his head and he lay on the bed with his body completely at her mercy. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to kill him; to avenge Sirius Black's life spent as a prisoner. She truly hated this man, and frankly, every single one of her clients were deserving of a spike heel between the eyeballs. How much longer she could take this, she wasn't certain; either she would crack and start murdering them before they could give her any information, or she'd go insane and never recover.

"Peter?" she said softly. "I need to ask you a few things."

"Anything..." he drooled.

"Time travel. What do you know about it? How about your Master?" This was Draco's and her working theory, that time-tampering was keeping Harry from them, based on the snips and drabbles they got from a few of the witnesses. They'd never gotten anything concrete enough to go further with.

"Master...can send someone back one second in time and make them stay there...always one second...marching to a different drummer, yes...oh, don't stop, I don't want it to ever end..."

"Peter, how does he do this?" This was already much more information than they had before. She was almost ready to faint with excitement.

"Time-turner...special one, special spell...illegal, oh yes. You don't want someone messing with you, you make 'a split second too late' be their motto." He collapsed into fits of giggles at his idiotic joke, and she suppressed an urge to punch him in the jaw.

"Can it be reversed?"

"Oh yes, if you have the key. Keeping Harry in temporal Azkaban, never able to catch up to the world...wait, why am I telling you this..."

She took out her wand, and said, "Obliviate". His eyes grew unfocused, and she put him to sleep and left. The keys were now in her hands, for she had a fair idea of the type of Dark spell that might have been used, and had a time-turner to work with. Draco would be so delighted.

*~*~*

The owl she sent to Draco swooped through the open window to give her a return message. She'd expected him to just come or stick his head in the Floo, but no matter. She set aside the Time-Turner and the spell she was working on to make it take her out of phase by one second to catch up with Harry's time, and opened the note.

"My son is dead, Miss Granger, for his treachery. You are next."

Somehow, she'd known all along to expect this. They never could keep the balls all in the air, and Draco had become careless in his anxiety with his father, obviously. He'd lost himself, and slipped, and now it cost him his life and would cost hers and undoubtedly Harry's, too, unless she could finish her work before she was killed. She felt as if she'd been punched, hard, right in the stomach.

"Harry might as well stay dead," she said to herself in a moment of desperation. "By the time he returns, everyone he loves most in this world will be gone."

"No, Miss Granger," a silky but unsteady voice said from behind her. "You'll still remain." She whirled to see Severus Snape, pale and disheveled but otherwise oddly a sight for her exhausted eyes.

"What do you mean? I'm as good as dead. The game is up. Draco is gone and that madman Malfoy is..."

"How many times have you wanted to kill Lucius Malfoy as he lay in bed, lolling about in post-coital haze?" Snape said evenly.

"Oh, about 200. I've lost count of the amount of times I've had to fuck that lunatic. On the bright side, I guess he won't be my problem after I die."

"Stop," Snape said, "You won't be dying today or any other time. Trust me."

"I've heard that before," she whispered, "I didn't trust you with the Veritaserum either."

"Trust me now." He leaned forward, brushing her hair out of someone else's face, and stopped. "It's time to be Hermione."

She shrugged, wondering why it was important, and changed herself into Hermione Granger. Before she knew what was happening, he kissed her very softly; before she could return the kiss as she was longing to do, he stepped away.

"I trust you," she said, before she could take it back.

"Give me your soul; I will keep it safe."

"I don't understand."

"I'll explain better later, but just kiss me again."

Moving into completely unfamiliar territory - kissing this man because she wanted to, not because of an obligation or a payoff- she found that she was shy, she had to hold back and pull away quickly. Would it be enough? It felt so right, so good...

"I'll be back, Hermione," he said. "Good luck with the project; bring Potter home, all right? Insufferable though he is, I'm certain it would be best if he were with us."

She nodded, bewildered, and turned to her work as he left.

*~*~*

In darkness pierced only by a single tiny candle, she waved her wand over the Time-Turner for the seventeenth time and muttered another variation on a spell to modify the magical device. Sixteen times her Arithmancy calculations had proven flawed, but each time she'd learned something to carry forward. Would this be correct?

She could hear footsteps in the hallway outside her door, and suddenly quickened the pace with her heartbeat's urging. They would not knock when they came, she knew; if this did not work, she would die, despite Severus' assurances.

And what was _that_ all about, anyway? As she fiddled with the dial to set it exactly one second behind and hoped that she could maintain her place in that time rather than catch up to the present immediately, as had happened with every failed attempt to this juncture, her mind slipped to the man who now haunted her dreams. As a child, she'd never been afraid of him, only defiant and armed with knowledge she wanted him to appreciate. When he failed to show signs of approval, she was upset for a time, but after learning the burdens he carried as a spy and member of the Order of the Phoenix, her opinion had modified. Harry and Ron, of course, had continued to hate him and blame him for things that were not his fault; she couldn't help that, but she could understand him where they could not.

After she left school, she had put any plans for further education on hold and took basic training with Moody and Tonks to better assist them in their surveillance efforts for the Order, and separately had trained with Tonks on her Metamorphmagus abilities. She'd seen Snape a few times at headquarters. She'd been taken aback the first time they spoke ("Good evening, Professor Snape," she had said very formally). He'd addressed her as Miss Granger as in student days, but instead of sweeping by her as he had in the past, he lingered for a moment and inquired how her training was coming, and did she need any assistance? Later that night before she had drifted off, she replayed the conversation and realized that he had treated her as...an equal, an adult, rather than a lowly student barely deserving of his notice.

Each encounter with him after that, before she went rogue and joined Draco in her unapproved quest for Harry's whereabouts and rescue, had been...oddly satisfying, if not pleasant, as if the years of being ignored or savaged by Snape in class had been made up for by his polite and frank discussions with her about Order business, a question she had about a Dark spell, a book he could recommend on Dementor psychology. She began to look forward to the times she'd see and speak with him. As fantastical and improbable as that would have seemed to the adolescent Hermione, the adult version began to feel a pull towards a kindred intellect.

The night Ron was killed and Hermione discovered her destiny with Percy Weasley, she disappeared. Went underground, disgusing herself as cleverly as possible, purchasing a new wand through semi-legal channels. Owls still found her, but she chose to ignore all of them until Draco approached her with his offer. Seven months had gone by, and until Draco made the arrangements for her to meet Snape in New York, she'd had no contact with him. 

Oddly, she had missed him - his voice, his knowledge of subjects that she was interested in, the way his hands moved as he spoke - a great deal. And she now could see that he had apparently felt the same way about her absence. In a world where she had felt as if she had nothing to live for other than the quest, where her entire being was wrapped up in bringing her friend home by any means necessary, she found that there was something - someone - she cared about, after all. To be frank, this frightened her immensely. It was much easier to be a mercenary when you cared for nothing and no one.

Now, because of what they were doing, Draco was gone, and Harry would probably never forgive her. Even if she did manage to find him before dying herself.

The footsteps outside her door grew louder, and then died as they moved past. Apparently her death warrant wasn't signed yet.

Suddenly, she grew cold. Her door opened, and a dementor glided into her room.

So cold...thoughts of Ron's death swirling through her mind...Peter Pettigrew holding her by the throat calling her his whore...

The dementor began to lower its hood. Hermione raised her wand, trying to call her otter Patronus, but it was no use. Fear had taken her voice. All she could manage was a tiny croak. The dementor was going to finish her off with his Kiss.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she thought, succumbing to the inevitable.

*~*~*

Hermione opened her eyes. The dementor was gone. The Time-Turner and her wand were still clutched in her hands, but she was in her bed. It was daylight outside; obviously, she'd spent at least the better part of the day asleep, since the Dementor had visited her around 3 am.

"How did...I...?" she said. Shaking, she focussed on the task at hand, unaware of the man in the shadows watching her silently. She measured the tiny fraction of a millimeter that one second in the past would be on her Time-Turner, grabbed Hedwig who had been staying with her ever since Harry had disappeared, and vanished.

When she didn't immediately return, the man smiled, knowing that her mission was likely on its way to being accomplished.

*~*~*

The world looked very interesting from one second in the past. And she knew she had done it when the disorienting visual blur of the one-second differential did not go away.

Now to find the only other person stuck in this nightmarish prison with her, and hope to God that she could reverse things properly so that they could get back to normal time. Leaving her flat behind, she noticed a man in the shadows. Snape. He'd been watching her.

Oddly comforted by that thought, she left in quest of Harry Potter.

It didn't take long to find him, primarily because she'd thought to bring Hedwig. She tied a note to her leg, told her to find Harry, and went to the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. School wasn't in session, so the blur of the time lag was less disorienting here, outside in the fresh air. The worst problem with this time-limbo was that you couldn't touch anything that moved, nor could you even see it properly; it had moved on in real time. But very stationary items, like the spectator stands, were okay. And, stuck one second in the past, no one could see you at all. It was an interesting plan on Voldemort's part, really; if he tried to kill Harry and the curse rebounded again, Voldemort may have been defeated once again. This was much safer; simply get him out of the way where he can't hurt you, if you're an evil Dark Lord on a quest for world domination.

After about...well, time having no real meaning, but she guessed anyway...two hours of restless waiting, Hedwig soared overhead to signal her accomplishment. Further on, she could see Harry walking towards her from the direction of Hogsmeade. He wasn't alone.

Draco Malfoy, smile fixed firmly on his face, was holding Harry's hand.

She ran towards them, youthful glee at seeing them both alive momentarily overcoming the rock wall she had built around her heart.

"Damn you, fucking Malfoy," she yelled in what was a Very Usual Greeting between the two of them. "You found him first."

"You can thank your darling loverboy, my idiotic father," Draco said, catching her in a bone-crushing hug. "Thought he was big shit Number Two Man, using Voldemort's Time-Turner. I see that our Ratty friend sang for you. I knew you'd solve it, Hermione, I had faith in you, and I'm..."

"Don't say you're sorry, you oaf. I understand why you were getting frustrated at the end. Fuck all, it doesn't matter..." she turned to Harry, and the smile fell from her face.

"Draco told you?" They did not reach for one another. Harry couldn't look in Hermione's eyes. She paused, not understanding his hesitation.

"About Ron...Percy...your scheme to find me...oh yes, Hermione. I was there; I saw it happen, and could do nothing to stop it. I've been with you through all of this, Hermione, I've been there. I..." he faltered, "I don't have any idea what to say. The lengths you have gone to...both of you, laying your lives on the line...for me..."

"You daft git," Draco said, "As _if_ we weren't going to rescue the Boy Who Lived A Second Too Late. And Hermione did all the - ah - work."

"Snape?" Harry said. "Jesus, Hermione, you kissed Snape? I so wished I wasn't a fly on the wall for that nightmare. Or most of the other icky bits, but I managed to get out before you...uh...but you seemed to _want_ to kiss Snape."

"You didn't tell me that part," Draco said in an amused, if not entirely surprised, tone. "You're not supposed to kiss the customers."

"It's not my fault you were playing the voyeur, and it's not like you told me about Draco...Merlin, how revolting," Hermione said, trying to squash her tumble of emotions. "Were you there for the Dementor?"

"Dementor?" Harry and Draco said together. "What Dementor?"

"Someone sent a Dementor; Harry, it administered a Kiss to me, and here I am. I don't understand. I couldn't summon my Patronus in time, I saw it coming for me...next thing I knew, the Dementor was gone, a day had passed, and I came here."

Draco frowned. "Probably dear old Father behind the Dementor, but how did you escape?"

"Snape was in the room," she said suddenly, "and I hadn't realized. I bet he summoned a Patronus...still..." she chewed her lip thoughtfully.

Harry looked at her, and grabbed her for a tight hug. "Oh, Hermione, when I saw Ron die...what you did to Percy, it took some balls. All I could think was, that's my girl...but to see you use that on others...well, it was bloody brilliant but you were in such danger...and having to have sex with those scumbags..." he trailed off, obviously distressed on her behalf at the lengths she was willing to go to free him from his temporal prison.

"Humph," she said from within his embrace, "we're not free yet. Let's get home before someone sees we're missing and traps us here permanently or something. You two, grab hold of me - someone hold Hedwig - here we go."

*~*~*

Once the three of them were safely back in Hermione's flat, Draco and Harry immediately began talking revenge over a cup of tea. Harry, of course, had it in for Voldemort. He couldn't kill Percy - Draco had taken care of that for him - but Voldemort was the root of all evil.

Draco, naturally, was very put out with his father and feeling very murderous. But Hermione felt strangely flat, as if she couldn't even muster up enough emotion to hate Lucius for what he had done. "At least he didn't kill either of you," she said, "I'm afraid that revenge will just end up getting us killed, and I cannot stand the thought of losing you, Harry."

Draco pouted in her direction. "Oh, all right. Or you either, Big Daddy Pimp."

As they dissolved into inappropriately childish giggles, her mind wandered off into Snape-land again. How had she escaped that Dementor, anyway? It was time for some answers. "I'll leave you two to plot our revenge, all right? Go downstairs and ask Fred and George if you need anything exotic; they'll be happy to see you and totally discreet, of course. And don't use my bed if you start getting romantic; I can't take the mental image. Yecch..."

"Where are you going?" asked Harry.

"I think I know," said Draco with unusual understanding. "We'll see you soon."

She nodded and departed, carefully setting the charms around the flat to admit no one but friendly wizards and witches, and walked slowly through the sunset-dappled town to the gates of Hogwarts.

*~*~*

She quickened her pace up to the front door as night began to fall, expecting a welcoming committee but receiving none. Although school was not in session, the castle's complex system of enchantments was set to allow any member of the Order safe haven regardless of time of year (and regardless of renegade status, apparently.) She entered, looking around and seeing no one, and wondered if she should stop by the Headmaster's office before proceeding or whether she should go on about her business.

"Of course, you should see me," Dumbledore said out of thin air, making her jump. "Do come on up. The password is 'Skiving Snackboxes'."

She chuckled despite her apprehension. The more things changed, the more they were constant; Dumbledore's omniscience and passwords were among the constants of wizarding life.

Comfortably seated in Dumbledore's office, she endured a long stare over the half-moon glasses. "So," he said, "successful at last?"

"You knew?"

"Oh, my dear, of course I knew. I tried to get others to see that we should stop you and young Mr. Malfoy, but I was overruled by those who thought your plan was brilliant. It was, of course, but I worried...we all worried."

"Harry is safely back in our time."

"Time," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "something that should not be wasted, but often is. I've wasted a lot of time pondering Harry's situation rather than acting on it. The time, if you'll pardon the expression, has come for Harry to fulfill his destiny. I know he must be plotting token revenge, but cooler heads must prevail in order to achieve our ends."

Hermione could only nod, and fervently wish she was someone else for a moment. Dumbledore's gaze was all too piercing when she was herself rather than one of the adopted personas she had become so accustomed to. In fact, it occurred to her, Snape was the first person to get her to be herself at all for months.

"He is at my flat in Hogsmeade, fairly well protected; though when Voldemort realizes I've sprung his prisoner, I suspect he'll be on the lookout. Perhaps Harry should come here."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, "I will deal with this now. You've done far more than we can ever repay, Miss Granger, and I will recommend you for an Order of Merlin for your service against Voldemort's plans."

She flushed. "I don't want any special recognition; in fact, I'd prefer to remain as low-profile as possible right now."

He waved his hand. "I'll recommend it anyway, to be awarded after this business is done. Now, I know you didn't come to visit an old man. I believe the object of your search is even now down in his dungeon. He has something you'll need down there. I'll leave you to it, and I will be going directly to visit Harry and Draco and work on our plan."

How in the blazes does he know everything? She marveled to herself at his continued mind-reading, reminding herself that a few lessons in Occlumency wouldn't hurt when dealing with Albus Dumbledore.

She walked slowly down to the bowels of the castle, wondering just where his quarters were. The only place she'd seen him was the classroom. She entered the open door, looking around to find that he wasn't there. Now where to look?

Just as she had turned right and chosen a rather imposing wooden door to knock on, a hand shot out and grabbed her, dragging her into the shadows. Momentary blind panic gave way to anger when she realized that Snape himself had just given her a fright.

"What in the bloody hell..."

"Shhhhh," he put a finger to his lips, "you'll wake her and we'll never get a moment's peace." He led her off down a dark hallway. He paused, and tapped his wand on his left side of the stone near the floor, to the left above his head, to the right above his head, and on the right side floor. Within his outlined area, a door appeared. He ushered her through into a surprisingly well-lit sitting room.

"Your place, I presume?" she commented unnecessarily. He nodded. "Are you going to tell me what that was about in the hallway?"

"Mrs. Norris," he said bluntly. "She sleeps all summer so that she can stay awake tailing students all year long. I hate that cat with a passion, and you were just about to pound on her door."

Red-faced, she nodded her understanding. "I suppose you have a few questions for me?" Snape said in a low voice that should have sounded sinister - certainly sounded that way all the way through school - but now failed to frighten her. In fact, it was producing the opposite emotional response. She wanted to hear that voice again; calling her name out in the heat of passion, perhaps. She had to mentally slap herself for the vision that was forming in her brain.

"My soul..." she began, not even realizing it was a question he could answer until just now. "You knew?"

"I suspected Lucius would use Dementors against you if he ever found out the truth about who you were and the type of operation you were running. Voldemort is surprisingly easy to fool, the fake Veritaserum flummoxed him, but Lucius was seeing too much of you to not become suspicious. Draco is not the best liar and I knew it was only a matter of time. So, I asked you to give me your soul for safekeeping - it's never been tried in modern times, but I found the reference in a very old book in the Restricted Section. Stole a page out of your novel, really, with arcane magic that has been lost through the ages. You resisted at first, to be sure. I was surprised you gave it at all - I..." his voice cracked and he stopped speaking.

"When I kissed you, my soul passed between us?" she said, slowly comprehending. "The Dementor was unable to feed off me because you had what it wanted. No Kiss was possible!" It had been a brilliant piece of defense, one she could not have seen coming. "I had no idea that you could transfer a soul to another person for safekeeping. I assumed you had been speaking metaphorically; I confess, it was very hard for me to actually think of you as speaking as...romantically...as you were." She suppressed a guilty wish that there had been some romance behind it. She'd been a fool; he'd only been trying to protect one of the Order's valuable assets, the only full Metamorphmagus alive. His visits with her and his concern, his tender kiss weren't born of romance, but protection.

And here she'd been, falling in love with someone who would no more look her way than any other woman. The realization stung her and caused her pain in a place where she had been certain no emotion could ever penetrate again. It had been much, much easier when that place was full of ice cold emptiness. She could not bear to look at him as she felt the lump rise in her throat.

"Thank you, Professor Snape. I owe you a debt that I hope to someday repay. I appreciate your making the effort to explain; I won't take any more of your time." She turned, woodenly, to go. He put a hand on her arm, stilling her motion.

"I still have your soul, Miss Granger," he said softly, "and I'd like to return it to you...properly."

She looked into his eyes then, not daring to hope that she'd find anything more there than the clinical detachment of a scientist and his subject. What she saw in those eyes surprised her, and changed the pain and misery in her heart to unexpected warmth.

"Hermione," he whispered, "stay with me tonight."

She found she could not refuse.

~*~*~

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_If you like this story, read the sequels: "Soul on Ice" and "Soul Blue and Black". Just follow my author link above._


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